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STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 










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Of course we think this home of ours is just the nicest of all. 





STAY-AT-HOME 

JOURNEYS 

BY 

AGNES WILSON OSBORNE 


Published jointly by 

COUNCIL OF WOMEN FOR HOME MISSIONS 
AND 

MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT 
New York City 




COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY 
COUNCIL OF WOMEN FOR HOME MISSIONS 

AND 

MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT OF THE 
UNITED STATES AND CANADA 




AUG 151921 


©CI.A622415 


I 7 Cul*. 


Cv 

27 


CONTENTS 

PAOE 

The Lady Beautiful 1 

Felipe of the Golden Bananas 15 

The Boy Who Won 33 

The House That Moved Away 53 

They Who Find America 79 

Rose Ellen Makes a Home 99 




ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


‘Of course we think this home 
of ours is just the nicest of 
all.” Frontispiece 

‘The little shack was set on four 
shaky wooden posts high off the 
ground.” 17 

‘The following Sunday promptly at 
the appointed hour Keok was 
at the door of the little red 
church.” 45 

‘Aurora was a friendly little soul 
whom every one knew and to 
whom any shack was home.” 59 

‘In the shelves lived the people of 
the city all tucked away, each in 
the little section he called his 
own home.” 81 

‘What could it he that Rose Ellen 
had given to this home beauti- 
ful!” 


115 



THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 



THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


J IM GRANGE had been chosen butler. 

One of the girls whispered it was be- 
cause he was so nice and big and rosy- 
cheeked. He looked a bit stiff now, and very 
much dressed up in his Sunday suit. The 
curl that would come so annoyingly in his 
sandy hair was all straightened out. You 
could have slid on his head, it was so slip- 
pery smooth. 

No, they were not always so stylish as to 
have a butler at the orphanage. It was 
only on the most special occasions that Miss 
Paxton singled out one of the older boys for 
the privilege of “’tending the door” and 
ushering in the expected guest of honor. 
This glory carried with it the distinction 
of leaving the study-room early in order to 
be dressed in time. 

All the other children were upstairs get- 
ting ready. Every now and then from his 
post, where he stood so handsomely at at- 
tention, Jim scanned the farthest height of 
the broad old stairway. 

1 


2 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“No sight of her yet ! But she’s a girl, so 
I suppose she must take a long time,” 
thought Jim. 

He was watching for some evidence of 
Bose Ellen, his fellow-conspirator. They 
had worked out a system of secret signals 
so that he could give a sign to those above 
stairs when first he spied the guest. If she 
should come by auto, gliding in without 
warning, he was to use a certain closing of 
the door that would announce the arrival 
to Bose Ellen even before he should for- 
mally announce it to Miss Paxton in the 
adjoining office. 

Bose Ellen always liked to he first when 
there was anything unusual on hand. In- 
deed she more or less made excitement with 
her secrets and her signals and all her funny 
romantic ways. Jim would not have ad- 
mitted it, but he, or any one of the boys, was 
always willing, at a moment’s notice, to 
take up any challenge that her inventive 
brain threw out. Sources of real excitement 
were few in the mission orphanage, but to- 
night it was a genuine affair ! 

Of all the girls in the dormitory Bose 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


3 


Ellen was ready first. Her braids and shoe- 
strings had passed inspection with approval. 
She slipped out quietly and took up a rather 
dangerous position over the banister, where, 
by leaning very far forward, she could get 
just a glimpse of the downstairs world. 

Jim signaled promptly, “nothing doing.” 

It was against the rules of the orphanage 
to appear downstairs before the whole line 
of children was ready to march, so Rose 
Ellen had to refrain from venturing farther, 
though she was quite plainly visible now to 
anyone who might have looked up. But no 
one did. The teachers, all assembled in Miss 
Paxton’s office, were politely waiting to meet 
the guest. They were excited, too, for guests 
did not often find their way to the mission 
home on the outskirts of Warrington. 

“Do you see anything?” Mary and Elsie 
Kate called from the doorway above. 

“Sh! She’s just coming.” A strangely 
uncalled-for rattling of the door by the new 
butler confirmed the fact. 

Rose Ellen took a long look, then sud- 
denly righted herself and bounced back 
into the dormitory a bit red in the face. 


4 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“What’s she like?” asked Mary. 

“She’s a real one,” Rose Ellen answered. 

“A real one?” 

“Yes, a real home ‘lady. I know she is, 
not a teacher or a secretary or anything like 
that, but one who lives in a real home. I 
know she has one all her own.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“Oh, I can tell by looking at her.” Rose 
Ellen gave her head a toss for emphasis. ‘ 4 1 
know the kind that live in real homes ; she 
is just like them. And her hair — they asked 
her to take her hat off — it is — well, warm 
and cozy, sort of like firelight; yes, that is 
what it is like.” 

“What a crazy idea!” interrupted one of 
the older girls, who was acting as proctor. 
“Hair like firelight! You are always hav- 
ing such wild notions, Rose Ellen, and every- 
one else taking up with them! Come, you 
are all wanted downstairs now. Get in line. 
Much good praising up her hair will do, if 
we are not down on time !” 

The older girl was nervously conscious of 
her position on this important night. She 
felt Rose Ellen’s unchecked enthusiasm to 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


5 


be dangerous, something was sure to happen. 

For all Rose Ellen was on tiptoe over the 
“real lady” who had come, she walked 
down demurely to the foot of the stairs 
where the girls’ line met the boys’. 

Fate had brought Jim Grange and Rose 
Ellen together as marching partners and 
externally Jim was propriety itself. He 
slyly poked the girl at his side with his 
elbow, saying, “Everyone’s got to be good at 
supper tonight, ahem!” Jim expected to 
get some quick reply from Rose Ellen. One 
usually did. Strange to say, none came, 
and he realized she was not listening to him 
at all. Her eyes were fixed on the visitor. 

“Say, Rose Ellen,” he persisted, “what’s 
her name?” 

Rose Ellen turned her big dreamy eyes 
upon him. “It’s the Lady Beautiful,” she 
said, in that final way of hers that people 
always accepted. 

“Some book name!” thought Jim, his 
usual admiration for the quick-tongued lit- 
tle mischief-maker failing for the moment. 
What could be interesting about a lady, silk- 
gowned though she was! “Honk! Honk!” 


6 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


he grunted in a little parting snort as they 
separated and marched to opposite sides of 
the shining oil-cloth board. 

All was silence for a moment, as they 
stood with heads bowed. Then the seventy 
young voices sang the quaint song that was 
their evening grace . 1 

‘ 1 Thou who didst bless the children, 

And give the people bread, 

We thank thee for our homes, our food, 

We pray may all be fed. 

May none, dear Lord, be hungry, 

None homeless, sad, or cold ; 

May all thy children through this night, 

Be safe within thy fold. ’ ’ 

How things could turn out as they did, 
when Rose Ellen was in a mood so appar- 
ently angelic, Jim could never understand, 
but trouble began in a small way, at once. 
Grace was over, and the time-worn ques- 
tion had just been asked, “What are you 
going to say to our visitor, children?”’ 
when Rose Ellen awkwardly knocked over 
a glass of water and stood staring without 
a word till the sing-song greeting was ended, 
and each child had clattered into place. 

1 Tune : St. Christopher. 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


7 


Miss Paxton frowned a little. Her pride 
in the neat mission home was genuine and 
natural, and it seemed only right to her that 
children for whom so much was being done 
should show appreciation by good conduct 
especially during the visit of a new trustee. 
She said nothing about Hose Ellen’s mis- 
hap, however, and began serving the dinner 
upon the great pile of plates before her. 

The fish and potatoes were good, but Rose 
Ellen ate as one in a dream. She did not 
even finish her banana, and she loved ba- 
nanas. Something about the lady, her soft 
dress, the bits of lace, the smiling gentle- 
ness of her face, awoke in Rose Ellen an 
old heart-hunger. She had not had it so 
badly since she had been found and brought 
to the orphanage. In the old knock-about 
days when she lived anywhere, the strange 
inner longing had made her stand for hours 
looking in at lighted windows where white 
table-cloths were spread for the evening 
meal, and soft lamp-shades made a warm 
glow over all the room. 

That the Lady Beautiful had come from 
a real home, Rose Ellen felt instinctively — 


8 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

the kind of home she had dreamed about, 
but had never seen. She had pieced together 
all its wondrous parts from things she had 
read, from things she had seen in big store 
windows, and from advertisements. 

As they were eating dessert, the Lady 
Beautiful was formally introduced. 

“This is a new friend of ours who has 
just returned from a long and wonderful 
journey,” explained Miss Paxton. “She 
tells me she has seen many kinds of homes 
while visiting the far-away parts of our 
country. She is interested in this home of 
ours, in all sorts of homes, and in helping 
to make our America a better home for 
everyone who lives here.” 

Rose Ellen loved to hear of new and won- 
derful things, but a strange rebelliousness 
seized her. Why should the lady with the 
beautiful home have, besides, all this joy of 
seeing things? Think of having a glimpse 
into all the other homes of the country, 
when she, Rose Ellen, longed to see and 
know just one — one real home ! 

It might have been all right if Miss Pax- 
ton had not added : 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


9 


“I have asked our friend to tell us about 
these other homes. For while we cannot 
travel as she has, we should love to take a 
stay-at-home journey. Of course we think 
this home of ours is just the nicest of all, 
but we should like to know about the homes 
of other American boys and girls.” 

Then to everyone’s astonishment Rose 
Ellen spoke right out. 

“I don’t think this home the nicest of all. 
I would like to be in any of those other 
places that are really interesting instead of 
here.” 

A shudder ran around the board. Even 
the heavy dishes seemed to give a little shiv- 
ering clatter. 

Miss Paxton turned red and looked 
amazed. “You may go right up to bed, 
Rose Ellen. How could you be so rude?” 
And she had always seemed so on Rose 
Ellen’s side, too, thought Jim to himself. 
Everyone held his breath ; no one even 
thought of whispering ; the room was abso- 
lutely still. Would she answer back ? What 
would she say? You could never tell with 
Rose Ellen. 


10 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


The blow fell on a strangely unmoved lit- 
tle creature. She rose to go. Then she took 
one more look at her Lady Beautiful, and 
their eyes met. 

Miss Paxton leaned forward to catch a 
low word her guest was saying. Rose Ellen 
hesitated a moment, stood still, and then 
Miss Paxton said quite calmly and pleas- 
antly, “Rose Ellen, you have a friend at 
court who pleads for you. Perhaps if you 
stay, you will feel differently about things. 
No, don’t go back to your seat. You must 
sit right here until we are ready to go to the 
living-room.” 

Miss Paxton’s idea, doubtless, was to have 
Rose Ellen in safe nearby quarters. 

“Couldn’t have rewarded her better,” 
chuckled Jim Grange under his breath to 
young Chapin. 6 6 She ’s been leaning all over 
her chair to keep her eyes on that lady — 
calls her some fancy name or other.” 

Soon Miss Paxton tapped lightly on the 
table and with this signal the boys and girls 
arose. Instead of going into the study-hall, 
as on ordinary week nights, they marched 
to the living-room where on Friday evenings 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


11 


they had games. Tonight it was to be sto- 
ries. The fire in the fireplace transfigured 
the large bare room by its cozy warmth. 

Miss Paxton, the visitor, and Pose Ellen 
brought up the rear of the procession. 

As Miss Paxton was busy arranging 
everybody, Rose Ellen was left standing be- 
side the lovely visitor, so near that she could 
almost touch the soft silkiness of her dress. 
She noticed how the light from the fire min- 
gled with the red-gold hair of the Lady 
Beautiful. Suddenly the visitor smiled as 
she looked down at the outwardly demure 
and inwardly defiant little girl at her side. 

“Tell me what it is you don’t like here. 
Don’t be afraid, just tell me what it is,” 
urged the voice that Rose Ellen had already 
decided was like a lullaby. She had never 
heard a lullaby, but she was always imag- 
ining what she had never seen or heard. 

“Oh, it just isn’t a real home,” said Rose 
Ellen hesitatingly. It was hard to explain 
what she felt about the orphanage. They 
had surely been wonderfully good to her 
there. She hoped the lady would ask noth- 
ing more; but she did. 


12 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“What is a real home?” Her voice 
sounded almost wistful Rose Ellen thought. 
She asked as if she really wanted to know. 

“I wonder!” Rose Ellen said and stopped 
short. 

“If you find out, will you let me know? 
I have wondered about it myself.” 

She put out her hand to touch the little 
girl’s dark hair, when at that moment Miss 
Paxton came toward them. 

“Do you wish to begin?” she asked. 

Something about the orphanage had 
touched the heart-love of the new trustee— 
especially something about Rose Ellen. To 
her own surprise she found herself an- 
swering : 

“Miss Paxton — I’ve decided I can’t do it 
— I can’t tell the whole story in one evening. 
I’d rather tell about just one of the homes 
in those far-off spots and make these boys 
and girls know it as I do. Then, perhaps, 
— ” she hesitated, “If they like it, I might 
come again.” 

There was perfect silence now. The lady 
turned from the big chair that had been 
placed for her and sat down on a low stool 


THE LADY BEAUTIFUL 


13 


among the children. The circle of firelit 
faces glowed with expectant interest. 

“I think we shall take a journey to some 
warm and sunny land this wintry evening,” 
she began. “I know one of the brightest 
spots in the world that sends us golden yel- 
low things to eat. You had some of these 
things here for supper this evening. They 
were long and yellow.” 

“Yes, bananas, bananas!” shouted sl 
chorus. 

“That is right. Now I have in mind a 
story about 4 Felipe of the Golden 
Bananas.’ Shall I tell you about him?” 

“Yes, yes!” came from every boy and 
girl. 
































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FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 





FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN 
BANANAS 


T HE sun had been shining brightly for 
some time, and it was already hot on 
the old Spanish road that winds down 
among the sugar plantations to the sea. It 
would be a long trip to the market and back, 
thought Felipe, as he emptied the last bas- 
ketful of bananas into the rickety old ox- 
cart. 

Sancho, the ox, stood waiting patiently, 
his head down. He wore no yoke, but in- 
stead, a band was strapped across his fore- 
head, after the fashion of Porto Rican oxen, 
in such a way as to make his burden easy to 
draw. 

It took a good jump for Felipe to get 
back into his home, for the little shack was 
set* on four shaky wooden posts high off 
the ground, and the ladder that led to the 
doorway lacked three rounds. They had 
been missing always, it seemed to Felipe. 
At least he had climbed in and out ever 
since he was a baby as small as his brother 
Diego. It was excellent practise and gave 

15 


16 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


him skill when he wished to climb up the 
smooth coconut-palms in the valley. 

“You must have some breakfast before 
you go, Felipe,” said his mother. “Come, 
Benito, give your brother the cup.” And 
Benito, who was squatting on the floor 
drinking his black coffee, handed the great 
round coconut shell to his mother after one 
more gulp. The few drops that were left, 
she poured into the mouth of a little crying 
baby in her arms, saying, “Take that 
quickly, little Marco, and be quiet ; we must 
get our man off to town.” 

Felipe’s sister Maria limped across the 
room with the rusty old coffee pot. She iust 
escaped spilling some of the boiling black 
water on Felipe’s bare feet as she tried to 
fill the shell. 

It was half dark in the windowless 
room, but through the open doorway the 
morning sunlight gleamed brightly enough 
to reveal the outlines of the family ham- 
mock and its pile of rumpled rags where 
the little brothers had been sleeping. Two 
middle-sized children, Joanna and Pedro, 
still lay asleep in the corner on the coconut 



The little shack was set on four shaky wooden posts high off the ground. 



FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 19 

leaves that formed their bed. They did not 
waken with the crying of little Marco, for 
he cried often, poor baby, and they were 
used to it. 

Felipe finished his breakfast of black 
coffee and handed the cup to Maria who 
watched her brother with admiring eyes. 
“Be sure to see what the great ladies in the 
Plaza are wearing today/ ’ she whispered, 
smoothing down over her bare lame leg, so 
thin and stiff, the little scant white shirt 
that was her own entire costume. 

“Do not stay so late that the moon shines 
on you and brings us bad luck, Felipe To- 
masito,” added the mother. “We will all 
work hard while you are at the market and 
gather for you tomorrow’s load. You will 
soon be rich.” 

“Yes, almost by the next Feast Day I 
shall have clothes enough to go to the gov- 
ernment school. Pedro shall wear them 
after me, and Diego after him. We must all 
go to school. What, Diego, can you stop 
eating bananas long enough to go to school, 
think you?” 

Then they all laughed. J oanna awoke and 


20 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


held out sleepy arms. “Let me go too, Fe- 
lipe.” Even Marco smiled at the big 
brother, who patted him gently as he went 
out the door and jumped to the ground. 

The little wan Porto Bican woman stood 
in the doorway of the thatched hut and 
looked proudly after her boy, straight and 
brown as a nut. His heavy dark hair was 
thrown back from his smiling face as he 
turned to wave, “Adios.” 

“When he goes to the town in his suit of 
new school clothes, all the girls will delight 
in Felipe Tomasito Rodriquez !” thought his 
mother, and she prayed each saint of his 
name for special protection. Little did 
either of them think that calm morning in 
what special need of protection they were 
all to be before night. As the ox-cart jogged 
out of sight, the mother hummed a quaint 
Spanish love song of the old, old world, 
which had floated over the wide, high seas 
centuries before. 

Felipe soon joined other country folk who, 
like himself, were carrying fruit and vege- 
tables to town, some in carts, some on bas- 
ket-laden donkeys. Some pushed wheelbar- 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 


21- 


rows, and others carried large trays upon 
their heads. Now and then an American 
automobile whizzed by. Felipe knew well 
the old Spanish military highway. For 
some time he had been carrying bananas to 
market for an old planter who lived in the 
valley, saving every penny he earned to buy 
the clothes he must have before he could 
attend the government school. His thoughts 
this morning ran on from one thing to an- 
other; what he was going to buy today in 
the great city with his share of the money 
received from the sale of the bananas; of 
the long walk he would have to take every 
day to the government school, but it would 
be worth all the tired aches, for he would 
soon know how to be a real American, and 
then what could he not do! He would be 
rich enough to buy some pigs and chickens 
to keep in the house, like their neighbors, 
the Apontes. The little brothers would not 
have to run around naked, and they should 
then go to school. But first of all the mother 
should have money for candles to burn for 
little Marco to make him well. That was 
what the priest said she must do to have him 


22 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


healed, and they had no money at all now 
to give the holy man. 

Despite the burning sun, the time passed 
quickly until here and there between the 
palm groves Felipe could see the stone ruins 
of the ancient wall that once surrounded the 
city. Above it the old Spanish castle stood 
out against the sky. Felipe knew what it 
was that fluttered over the gray stronghold, 
very tiny though it looked in the distance. 
He almost crossed himself in reverence 
when he saw it. It was the same flag that 
flew over the new schoolhouse, too. It had 
brought many good things to Porto Rico 
from the States across the water. It would 
bring many more, too. 

The lumbering old ox-cart creaked along 
till they came to the bridge that led to 
the city gate. Here everyone must pro- 
ceed slowly, and Felipe rested the good ox 
as he watched the women washing clothes on 
the river stones. The waters looked unusu- 
ally dark and muddy, but there had been no 
sign of rain. Neither Felipe nor his com- 
panions noticed the dark clouds that were 
beginning to pile up like a black mountain 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 23 

behind the palms, shutting off the hazy pur- 
ple hills. 

Near the city gate, the wonderful old 
Spanish wall was almost covered with Amer- 
ican posters and advertisements. The mar- 
ket just inside was also a strange jumble of 
old and new, as is the way in the new, old 
country of Porto Rico. 

The market-place, warm and bright, was 
filled with the chattering crowd who stood 
about in front of the open booths. Buying 
was good that morning, and Felipe handed 
out the golden clusters of ripe fruit with a 
singing heart. Now and again he looked 
down at his bare brown feet and pictured 
how fine they would look covered by the 
shoes and stockings that he must wear if he 
wished to go to the government school. 

The bananas were nearly all sold — but 
why was it growing dark so suddenly? 
Could it be late? No, for the bells from the 
old church tower had not long since rung 
noon. Yet the sky was black, and a hushed 
stillness, as of night, hung over the market- 
place which a few moments before had been 
so full of noisy, laughing crowds. Why, all 


24 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

the people were scuttling in various direc- 
tions like an overturned nest of mice run- 
ning for shelter ! 

In a dazed way Felipe stood taking in the 
strange scene until he was roused by the 
ox. Old Sancho, who had never before in 
his life moved on his own initiative, was 
now pulling restlessly at the traces, actu- 
ally trying to break away. 

Then it dawned upon Felipe’s mind what 
was coming. Every boy and girl on the is- 
lands of the South Seas has heard stories 
of great hurricanes. In hushed tones his 
mother had told her children of the storm 
that had swept over their peaceful island 
fifteen years before. The fierce winds had 
snapped off the great palm trees as easily 
as matches are broken by a child. It had 
left destruction and chaos in its path. 

Felipe crossed himself and sprang into 
the old cart. He gave Sancho free leave to 
make the fastest speed he would, and, for 
once in his life, Sancho ran. Even the ani- 
mals seemed to have knowledge of the great 
hurricanes ! 

“Only save my mother and little Maria 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 25 

and the baby !” prayed Felipe. He felt that 
the other children would be able to save 
themselves somehow. Oh, if he could only 
reach home in time ! 

There were no women washing in the 
river now. Angry and swollen were the 
waters under the old high bridge. It was 
coming — the storm — faster and faster. Fe- 
lipe was just across when the fury broke. 
Everything broke at once, the boy remem- 
bered afterwards. Somehow he found him- 
self on the ground. Into the dead hush that 
had hung heavy, there crashed a hundred 
fidrce gusts and blasts of wind whirling and 
swirling in every direction. He was near 
the river where the country was open, but 
it seemed only a few feet away that the trees 
up the valley fought for life, swaying their 
great branches angrily, then groaning and 
crashing until the ground shook and trem- 
bled. It seemed hours to Felipe that he lay 
there in the road flat on his face, digging his 
toes and fingers into the earth. Then he 
could not remember anything. 

When he came to himself, it was at the 
sound of a kind voice asking, “All right V 9 


26 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


Felipe opened his eyelids, wet with water, 
and looked into a white man’s face. He was 
flat on his back now. Where was he ? Why 
had he wakened so suddenly? 

Then he remembered the hurricane. 
“Mother!” he cried and jumped to his feet. 

“Where is your mother?” asked the 
American. “You are all right yourself ? ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Felipe quickly. “But where 
are Maria and the baby?” 

“Come with us and we will find them. We 
are here to find those whom the hurricane 
has injured. 

Felipe looked about.. The old cart was a 
crushed heap of splinters in the road beside 
him. A piece of it had evidently hit his head, 
knocking him unconscious. Old Sancho 
was nowhere in sight. But nothing mat- 
tered then except his mother and the chil- 
dren, and Felipe hurried on with the Amer- 
icans. As they went along, he discovered 
from their conversation that they were the 
people who lived at the fine mission hos- 
pital he had once seen. Sick folk were taken 
there and cured without the burning of can- 
dles. Felipe could not believe this was true 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 27 

because his mother had taught him that only 
burning candles before the saints could help 
the sick to regain their health. And yet all 
along the road the doctor would stop to bind 
up the wound of some stricken sufferer, 
passing along from one to another, never 
stopping for money — not even expecting it 
to be offered to him. 

When they came to the turn of the road 
where little Maria so often awaited his re- 
turn, Felipe’s eager eyes searched in every 
direction. Nothing of the shack remained 
in sight except a splintered post still stand- 
ing in the midst of a pile of coconut 
branches. That was all that was left of the 
poor little home! 

He tried hard to hold his voice steady 
as he gave a long, loud “ Hallo!” He called 
twice, three times. No answer. Then from 
a distance came the welcome response. Fe- 
lipe ran forward just as Pedro appeared, 
waving his arm excitedly. 

“We thought you were dead,” he shouted. 

“And you?” . 

“We hid in a cave of which Mother knew. 
There are many of us there.” 


28 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“Are there any who are hurt?” inter- 
rupted the doctor. 

“Yes, there is Maria and old Mother 
Eliza and the Porfiro baby and — ” 

But before he had finished, Felipe was off. 
Pedro and the doctor followed immediately. 

Many of the people in the cave came run- 
ning out to meet them. All, yes, all of Fe- 
lipe ’s family appeared one by one, save 
Maria. His quick eye counted even the baby 
Marco in his mother’s arms. 

“Maria!” he cried. “Where is the little 
lame Maria?” 

“She is calling for you now. She is hurt, 
badly hurt,” said his mother as she led the 
way into the underground dug-out where 
some thirty people from near-by shacks had 
found refuge. The doctor started at once to 
aid the sick and injured. Little Maria lay 
on the ground and moaned as Felipe led his 
new American friend to her side. 

“It is a man who helps folks without even 
asking for their money, Mother,” said Fe- 
lipe, remembering how the doctor had 
helped those who lay bruised by the road- 
side. 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 29 

“By all the saints!” exclaimed the devout 
little woman. 

“It is by the love of the Master, Jesus,” 
said the doctor quietly, as he looked at the 
child beside him. 

“She will need to come to the hospital,” 
he said, and he patted Maria’s head reas- 
suringly. “The little lame leg can be made 
strong and well, too.” 

“Well?” murmured the child, wonder- 
ingly. She had stopped crying — then to 
everyone’s surprise she burst into heart- 
breaking sobs, “I will be well, I can run!” 
she sobbed. “But Felipe!” she exclaimed 
suddenly. “He has lost all his new clothes! 
He can never go to school!” 

Felipe had not thought of that. At that 
instant the doctor glanced toward the boy 
and noticed his face turn pale under the 
brown skin. 

“Gone! Yes, and the ox and the cart 
gone, too!” Felipe murmured in a dazed 
way. 

The American doctor realized that he 
must be witnessing some disappointment 
bitter beyond that which hurricanes usually 


30 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


bring. Such a home as Felipe’s could be re- 
built in no time, and they were never really 
furnished. This must be a greater tragedy 
than a home lost. 

“What is the troubled” he questioned 
kindly. Then from them all he pieced to- 
gether the broken story of how Felipe had 
worked and saved every penny so that he 
might go to the government school, and of 
how he had hoped to do so much for him- 
self and for the other children. 

“I tell you,” he clapped his hands on the 
boy’s shoulders, “we must get you into the 
mission school. It was built for boys like 
you.” 

“But shoes!” exclaimed Felipe, “won’t 
I need any there?” 

“Yes, you will, but boys and girls over in 
the States have sent shoes, books, and many 
other things because they want to help. 
First, we will build a house for your mother 
and the children. We will build a clean 
house bright with windows, so that the baby 
will grow strong and well.” 

As the doctor passed on to help the others, 
Felipe lifted Maria tenderly in his strong 


FELIPE OF THE GOLDEN BANANAS 31 

arms and placed her on some soft leaves to 
make her more comfortable. He thought 
over and over of the wonderful American 
mission school where he would be so soon. 
It seemed as if all around were a new 
world, a world from which the hurricane 
had torn away that which was ugly and 
dirty and sad. No more long trips to the 
market to make a few paltry pennies, no 
more long waiting to buy clothes for school, 
no more dirty shack with its rickety, rung- 
less ladder, and, best of all, Maria no more 
with a pitiful lame leg, but a romping, joy- 
ous Maria to join in making a new Ameri- 
can home. 








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I 


THE BOY WHO WON 



THE BOY WHO WON 


“ OOD evening, good evening,’ ’ was the 

VJT joyful shout which greeted the Lady 
Beautiful as she came in, a little late be- 
cause of the heavy storm which had blown 
the deep snow in drifts. She spread her 
hands out before the flames of the bright 
fire until the rosy light seemed to shine 
through them, outlining each finger in pink. 

“Whoo-o-o!” she shivered. “This re- 
minds me of a cold North country which is 
part of our own United States. I think we 
will journey to Alaska tonight. I hear you 
have had a native of that country here this 
very day.” 

Everybody looked at everybody else. The 
Lady Beautiful was the only new face 
among the familiar boy and girl faces there 
in the rosy firelight. 

“Yes,” continued the Lady, “he was here 
for supper. Indeed, he brought part of the 
supper with him. Come, who can tell us 
what came from Alaska today to this 
home?” 


33 


34 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


The boys and girls thought hard; they 
were trying to remember their geography. 

“Was it — fish "2” ventured a small voice. 

“Yes, that was it, of course, — fish. Fish 
swarm the lakes and the rivers of that 
Northland. Hundreds were caught last 
summer by Alaskan men and boys and 
packed to send down here. If we should 
go there right now, we would find the lakes 
and rivers and even part of the ocean itself 
frozen. But all winter the Eskimos catch 
the little ‘tomcod’ on which they live for 
months. Fish is the food three times a day 
in Alaska. Now we will start on our jour- 
ney.” 

The Boy Who Won 

It was icy cold in the white North coun- 
try. The snow lay piled so high, it seemed 
as if it must have been there always. 

And there was ice — a whole river of ice. 
The great glacier itself stretched gray-blue 
for miles until it was suddenly broken right 
off into the ocean and slowly floated in ice- 
berg mountains down to the far-off southern 
seas. Near where the iceberg met the sea 


THE BOY WHO WON 35 

was what is called a “leed,” a big stretch 
of clear ice between crags of snow, and here 
the village folk gathered for skating games. 

Noadluk and his father had been fishing 
all day in the dusky fog, for it was the sea- 
son in Alaska when the sun is so drowsy, it 
scarcely gets up at all for months. They 
had made a good day’s haul of silver-gray 
fish and had stowed it carefully away in the 
dog-sled. Now they were hurrying to the 
leed where Noadluk was to play in a big 
skating contest. 

The village folk, warmly wrapped in fur 
parkas, were gathered to watch the game. 
Also the boys from the mission home for 
orphans had come to join the village boys in 
the race. Alaskan children are good ath- 
letes and every good skater was out tonight. 

As the dog-sled arrived near the leed, 
Noadluk jumped out, fastened on his skates, 
tightening carefully the sealskin thong 
across his fur boots. His were good skates, 
tried out in many a game. He had made 
them himself by fitting into blocks of wood 
pieces of old iron that had been polished 
and sharpened. 


36 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

The boy struck out freely over the hard 
ice. A dozen other boys were already prac- 
tising the strokes they knew so well, and a 
thrill of excitement filled the air. The sky 
was aglow with its own fireworks and spark- 
lers, in honor of the race. All the Fourth 
of July celebrations in the world could not 
equal it. The sun may be a sleepy old thing 
during Alaskan winters, but these magical 
northern lights make up for its laziness. 

Now the game was on. It was a race to 
see who could be swiftest in sending a small, 
round, wooden puck up the stretch to the 
goal. The field was full of large cracks, 
hilly snow mounds, and holes where the less 
sure-footed might fall, or, even worse, lose 
his puck and be out of the game. 

Few boys from the States could rival these 
skaters, now jumping dangerous crevices, 
now leaping over jagged pieces of ice, now 
dashing along swift as lightning. From the 
start-off Noadluk was among the first in 
skating, but he fumbled a bit with his stick. 
Once he struck off to the side and had to go 
out of his way to recover the wooden puck 
which had almost buried itself in a pile of 


THE BOY WHO WON 


37 


snow. To make up for lost time he made a 
mad dash and gave the little puck a hard 
drive that landed it far up along ahead of 
all the rest. That was dangerous play. 
Someone else might reach it first and then 
— who knows where an opponent’s stick 
might land the precious thing! The very 
rashness of the stroke took everyone by sur- 
prise. But Noadluk shot forward, reaching 
his puck just in time to knock a dangerous 
stick aside, almost losing his balance as he 
did so. 

“Keok again!” he muttered under his 
breath. “He is always on hand.” Noadluk 
had no time to waste. Keok’s agile body 
had flung itself past him and was speeding 
away across the ice. Noadluk bore down 
closely upon him. It was a long smooth 
stretch ahead and the two were now far 
in the lead. They were skating hard and 
fast; almost abreast now, neither losing, 
neither seeming to gain an inch. Both 
were panting hard. They were almost at 
the end of the course. 

Suddenly, Noadluk ’s puck took a spurt, 
turned, and disappeared. To lose his puck 


3§ 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


even for a minute at this stage of the great 
race meant certain defeat. Triumphantly 
Keok forged ahead. Noadluk took a swift 
glance around. He dashed forward and in 
another moment there came the reassuring 
sound of his stick against wood. He made 
one more long, swift stroke — and stood vic- 
tor at the goal. 

A great shout arose. The merry Eskimo 
voices that had been so still with the breath- 
less excitement of the moment were let loose 
in a hubbub of congratulation. 

Noadluk ’s father’s face in his furry hood 
looked like the round, smiling moon. He 
was trying hard to preserve his dignity, and 
not show too much pride in this son of his. 

Soon those who had watched the game 
were back on the mainland, the dog-sleds 
were moving, and the people were going 
home in a hurry. Now that the game was 
over, it seemed cold indeed, despite furry 
coats and mittens. 

Noadluk, tucked up behind his father, was 
gliding over the snow behind the noiseless 
feet of the big, shaggy dogs. 

Off in another direction they saw Keok 


THE BOY WHO WON 


39 


“mushing” slowly on foot through the soft 
snow. 

“Poor Keok!” sighed Noadluk, a little 
wistfully. 

“He is a fine, swift skater, and he took 
his defeat like a true Eskimo,” added the 
father. In his own pride he could afford 
to be gracious to the son of another father. 
“Whose son is he, this Keok?” he asked. 

“His father is a nobody, a man who works 
in the mines when he is not drunk, and plays 
with white folk — the white men who come 
and go.” 

Despite the exhilaration of his victory, 
Noadluk was not in a mood for talking, and 
said no more. His father, too, dropped into 
silence — a sad silence. Few subjects trou- 
bled him more than the thought of the men 
of his people who went too much “with 
the white folk who come and go.” What 
different kinds of white men there were! 
He himself worked much with those who 
had brought them the little church and 
school. 

When they reached home neither the 
father nor the son was as joyous as might 


40 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


have well been expected. They were half- 
way down the ladder that led from the little 
outside opening into the lower store-room 
before either thought to shout the news of 
the race to the mother. 

She came running to meet them through 
the low tunnel that led to the warm living- 
room. She looked with pride at her son, 
already taller than herself, though it must 
be said that Noadluk’s mother made up in 
width what she lacked in height. 

The baby, left by himself, raised a wail. 
He lay on his reindeer robe beside the oil- 
stove, a bundle of fur with bright black eyes 
shining out from under the soft fawn-skin 
bonnet. The wailing was soon at an end, 
for his mother supplied the never-failing 
Eskimo remedy, a juicy bit of seal blubber 
to suck on. There was more substantial fare 
provided for the hungry men : dried salmon 
with wonderful fish-oil sauce, and vegeta- 
bles which they had picked from their own 
garden, months before, and put away for 
the winter use. When the big family bowl 
was empty, and the snow-sharpened appe- 
tites were satisfied, the mother adjusted the 


THE BOY WHO WON 


41 


lamp. A strange lamp it was indeed, just a 
dried eulachan or candle-fish, so full of oil 
itself, it needed only to be lighted to burn 
brightly. She sat down on the floor under- 
neath the flame and beside the heap of furs 
she had been sewing. 

“Here, swift son of mine, look what I 
have made you. I knew you would win,” 
she said as she held up a pair of soft fur 
mittens. Again she set to work at her sew- 
ing while they told her the tale of all that 
had happened in the great race. She lis- 
tened eagerly as her skilled hands plied the 
needle in and out of the new little parka she 
was making for the baby. 

The next day was Sunday, always a day 
of joy to these Eskimos. No one worked, 
for everybody went to Sunday-school and 
service at the little red mission church. Even 
the baby brother nodded peacefully over 
his mother’s shoulder from the warm com- 
fortable hood on her back. 

After the church service, Noadluk had 
to endure the ordeal of hearing his father 
tell the missionary pastor about the race. 
The white man was much interested, for 


42 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


when he was a boy back in the States, he, 
himself, had played a game much like this. 
He laid his hand on Noakluk’s shoulder. 

“I believe in sports,” he said. “I like 
our Christian boys to lead the race, to be 
the swift and the strong. The boys who 
play fair and win on the ice will be leaders 
in pushing better things for Alaska.” 

A new idea seemed to occur to him. “I 
want the children of the Sunday-school to 
feel that they have a part in the victory of 
one of our boys. Next Sunday we will award 
as a prize something that boys in the States 
sent for a boy like you, Noadluk.” 

Noadluk squirmed uncomfortably. “He 
is a little shy and awkward,” thought the 
minister; “but he has a fine face, bright and 
honest like his good father.” 

That afternoon anyone watching the snow 
path before Noadluk ’s house would have 
seen a strange thing. The Eskimo boy 
walked away from the house, then turned 
back, then away, and back. Several times 
he did this as if undecided what to do. 
Then he halted, dead still in the path, hold- 
ing his hands before him and staring at 


THE BOY WHO WON 


43 


the fur mittens which his mother had given 
him to celebrate his victory at the game. 
Anyone who could have seen his face 
would have wondered what there was about 
that gift to make him look so unhappy. 
Suddenly, with a determined air he started 
forward. 

During the winter the houses are often so 
buried in the snow that they appear as 
mounds of snow with chimneys extending 
from the top. High poles appear near each 
mound and to these poles are tied leather- 
covered canoes and bundles of dried fish. 

Noadluk wound his way between the snow 
mounds until he came to the outskirts of the 
village. He was looking for someone, yet 
he seemed not anxious to proceed. At length 
he met a boy. “Do you know where Keok’s 
home is?” he asked. 

The boy directed him to a tumble-down 
hut. On closer inspection Noadluk found 
it to be a heap of ice and snow supported 
by a few pieces of timber — old driftwood it 
looked like. The fish-skin covering of the 
little opening where one enters was torn and 
old, and as Noadluk looked inside he saw 


44 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


that the house contained but one room, and 
no one was in sight. There were no nice, 
warm sleeping bunks such as were in Noad- 
luk ’s house; only a heap of old furs, and 
the smell of stale fish was strong. Noadluk 
was surprised, for at this time most of the 
village houses had two good rooms and a 
special place for the winter fish supply. The 
change had been brought about by the white 
teachers who taught not only of a White 
City above, but also of how to make clean, 
white Eskimo towns in Alaska. 

Noadluk turned away half relieved, half 
disappointed. At that instant a fearful 
racket came from behind a near-by hut. It 
was a dog fight. Naturally Noadluk has- 
tened his steps. He arrived just in time to 
see the finish of a quarrel between two old 
huskies and a great, shaggy, half-wolf Es- 
kimo dog. 

A group of boys was watching the fight. 
Among them, Noadluk recognized the worn, 
patched coat of Keok, a coat that had lost 
most of its long fur. He hesitated a mo- 
ment, then went forward determinedly. It 
was Keok who turned and eagerly told him 



Courtesy Point Hope Association 

“The following Sunday promptly at the appointed hour Keok was at 

the door of the little red church.” 
























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♦ 


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THE BOY WHO WON 47 

the story of the fight. When he had finished, 
Noadluk began a bit stiffly. 

“Keok, you are a fine skater and a good 
sportsman. The white man at the church 
is interested in such. He told me so. I 
would like to take you to our school next 
Sunday.” 

Keok looked at him in surprise. He was 
quite still for a moment; then he said, 
“Yes, I will come.” Not often had he 
known anyone to take an interest in him. 
No one ever did at home. 

The following Sunday promptly at the 
appointed hour, Keok was at the door of 
the little red church. Noadluk had been 
inside talking to the missionary. He came 
out looking quite excited and took Keok 
into the mission church. 

Never before had there been such a Sun- 
day-school session. The boys from the mis- 
sion orphanage whispered excitedly. They 
had had the advantage of being able to get 
together and make plans and, Sunday- 
school though it was, they had a cheer all 
ready to give Noadluk at the right moment. 
It was a new thing — cheering — learned 


48 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

from the American teachers, and therefore 
it must be good for any occasion. 

Most Sunday-school gatherings in Alaska 
are not so different from ours. They have 
the same lessons and the same songs we do. 
Today the Eskimo voices sang loud and 
clear, ‘ 4 Eight the Good Fight,” the very 
words as we sing them ourselves. 

Fight the good fight with all thy might! 

Christ is thy strength, and Christ thy right; 

Lay hold on life, and it shall be 
Thy joy and crown eternally. 

Run the straight race thro’ God’s good grace 
Lift up thine eyes, and seek his face ; 

Life with its way before us lies, 

Christ is the path and Christ the prize. 

As the song ended, the boys and girls 
sat down again looking forward to the 
prize-giving. And then came a surprise! 
The minister spoke in a fine way all about 
honesty and fairness being the highest goal 
toward which we strive. He described the 
prize, a beautiful book full of pictures of 
boats and dogs and houses such as one 
does not see in Alaska. American boys had 
gathered these pictures together and made 


THE BOY WHO WON 


49s 


them into a book which they sent to boys 
in Alaska. “The winner/’ he said, very 
plainly, “is Keok, whom we are glad to 
welcome here for the first time.” 

Keok sat dazed. He did not move. Could 
he have heard correctly what the strange 
white man had said? 

The minister added, “A serious thing 
happened at the game last week which 
Noadluk now wishes to explain and make 
right before everyone.” 

Somehow Noadluk got to his feet. He 
could scarcely recognize his own voice. To 
confess to all those friendly faces the fear- 
ful cheat he had been was the most diffi- 
cult thing he had ever done. But he left 
nothing out of the whole story, how the 
puck that turned up ahead and sailed into 
the goal had been an extra one that had 
been in his pocket all along. 

The people in the audience sat dumb- 
founded as Noadluk turned and led Keok 
up to the platform to receive the prize. 

After the service, while the crowd talked 
excitedly about what had happened, the 
minister asked Keok about his home. 


50 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


The boy blushed awkwardly, shifting 
from one hand to the other the wonderful 
book of pictures. “My home is what is left 
of our tumbled-down hut,” he said, “and I 
have lived there alone these three weeks. 
It is longer than ever before that my father 
does not return at night. I do not know 
what has happened.” 

“And your mother?” 

“She died of the sickness. It is three 
months now,” answered the boy quietly. 

The American looked grave and sad. It 
was the same story everywhere — the ter- 
rible influenza that had broken up so many 
homes in Alaska. The mission hospital had 
been so full that they had not been able to 
care for half the sick ones who came to 
them. The orphanage was full to over- 
flowing with children who, like Keok, had 
been left homeless. 

The minister turned to Noadluk’s father: 
“It is just such a hoy as this whom we 
ought to be able to take into the orphan 
school. He could learn much there, but 
there is not another inch in the place.” 

The man beside him spoke up quickly. 


THE BOY WHO WON 


51 


“Keok is coming home with us. He can 
help with the fishing and find his place by 
the fire. He will be a brother to my big 
Noadluk there.” 

“ That’s splendid!” A happy glow came 
to the white man’s face. “A true Chris- 
tian home it will be, Keok, where you can 
learn the things that make a boy a real 
winner as our Noadluk has now learned to 
be.” 

“ A real winner!” murmured the boy’s 
father. And Noadluk, for whom the hard- 
est thing of all had been the thought of 
his father’s disappointment, saw in his big, 
oval face a pride which was greater than 
had ever been there before, as he said again, 
“My son, a real winner!” 





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THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 













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THE HOUSE THAT MOVED 
AWAY 


T O the eager children, the next Friday 
was a long time coming, but the days 
passed pleasantly for all that. With Miss 
Paxton’s help some of the boys and girls 
were arranging a surprise for the Lady 
Beautiful. They hung mysteriously across 
one side of the long living-room a white 
curtain. Behind a dark green screen at the 
opposite side of the room was hidden a 
stereopticon machine which Miss Paxton 
had secured from a city church. 

When the Lady Beautiful arrived she 
found the children all seated and the lights 
turned low. Suppressed little giggles came 
from here and there. Rose Ellen guided 
the guest to her seat by the glowing fire. 
“Good evening, Lady Beautiful!” the chil- 
dren tried to say just as usual, but it was 
of no use; they could not keep excitement 
out of their voices. 

In another moment a whirring sound was 
heard, the dark screen was set to one side, 
and then on the white curtain there ap- 

53 


54 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


peared pictures of the land of “ Felipe of 
the Golden Bananas.’ ’ Soon one of the 
girls stepped forward and told that part of 
the Lady Beautiful’s story of Porto Rico 
which she liked best, and then another girl 
told her favorite part, and another, hers. 
There was so much clapping of hands after 
this, that no one noticed a pause in the pic- 
tures until on the screen before them there 
appeared the land of “Noadluk” and 
“Keok.” 

Jim Granger made this a personally con- 
ducted tour through Alaska, and a jolly 
journey it was, for Jim kept everyone 
laughing with his funny comments on the 
pictures. 

‘ 4 Well, that was a surprise!” exclaimed 
the Lady Beautiful when the last Alaskan 
picture had been shown. 

“Where do we travel tonight?” asked 
one of the boys. 

“We’re going to stay in the United 
States again this evening and hear about 
something you had for supper.” 

“What did we have?” whispered one to 
another. “Soup? No, it couldn’t be that. 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 


55 


Brown bread? No, it surely couldn’t be 
that!” 

“I know,” shouted Jim Granger. 
“Beans!” 

“Yes, that is it. All aboard for our next 
journey!” 


The House That Moved Away 

If any of you have made gardens, you 
know that you plant seeds in such order 
that all summer long vegetables will ripen 
on successive days, not all at one time. 
Then every day there will be nice fresh 
beans for the table. 

But planting is not done in this way 
where vegetables are raised to be sealed 
up tight in cans for winter use. In such 
fields the seeds must all grow and get ripe 
at once in just the best season, and then 
there is the one great task of picking, can- 
ning, and packing them to send away to the 
people who like to eat string beans in 
winter. 

In the cannery fields of the West, there 
were hundreds and hundreds of green 


56 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


bushes all heavy with ripe pods, and in the 
factory across the way were hundreds of 
shining tin cans waiting to be filled. Great 
steamers and chopping machines stood 
ready for their work. Machines could do 
this part of the work, but only hands could 
bring the beans from the green fields to the 
factory. The long pods must be picked by 
quick, nimble fingers working all day long, 
day after day and day after day, until the 
entire bean crop should be harvested. 

Such a lot of fingers as were gathered 
together for the bean picking last summer ! 
They were of all sizes. Fathers’, mothers’, 
and children’s fingers. Some were the sun- 
burnt fingers of Russian immigrants, some 
the slender yellow fingers of Chinese la- 
borers, and a great, great many were dark 
brown fingers of those whom we call Span- 
ish Americans. 

There were many tiny laborers who grew 
weary as the day passed, and they might 
be found fast asleep between the rows of 
beans, the sun beating down on the sleepy 
heads. Such naps were a great family mis- 
fortune, for at the end of the day there 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 57 

would be fewer beans to show, and conse- 
quently fewer pennies received for the 
day’s work. 

There was one group in the bean fields, 
however, that everyone wished would sleep 
— the very little people, the babies. If only 
they would sleep instead of cry so much. 
They jogged along on their mothers’ bent 
backs or lay on the ground near the field 
where the mother or older sister picked, 
crying, crying a great deal. 

Some babies were left at home with the 
second eldest child, perhaps, or some were 
cared for by an old grandmother who was 
too slow now to work in the fields. Such 
a home-baby was Aurora. All day she 
played in and out among the shelters that 
the people called home. 

There were so many of these “homes” 
to which the workers came back from the 
fields at night that together they might 
almost be said to form a village or a town, 
except for the fact that they did not look 
as if they were planned to last long. They 
were plainly temporary shelters. Things 
seemed to just happen to be where they 


5£. STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

were. Nothing looked as if it meant to 
remain long where or as it was. 

But Aurora felt quite content, for her 
sturdy two-year-old legs had explored 
pretty nearly everything and everywhere. 
Aurora was a friendly little soul whom 
everyone knew and to whom any shack was 
home. If she was sleepy, wherever she 
happened to be she would,pillow her brown 
head with its shock of dark hair on some- 
thing and take a nap. At lunch time, 
when a neighboring little sister was making 
a bit of soup go round her family, Aurora 
would appear in the doorway for her share. 

When she wandered too far afield, some 
kindly person was sure to see her, pick her 
up, and turn her towards home. She al- 
ways came back, and the half -blind grand- 
mother, who was all of the family left at 
home, never worried about where the child’s 
explorations might lead her. 

One very hot day while Aurora was mak- 
ing her tour of the encampment, some peo- 
ple on their way to a near-by city were 
passing through in a great automobile. 

In the gray touring car rode Dorothea 



Aurora was a friendly little soul whom every one knew and to whom 

any shack was home.” 




THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 61 

Proctor and her mother. They were re- 
turning from the summer resort where they 
had spent July. Dorothea lay back on the 
soft cushions, her eyes half closed. The 
white road stretched on and on ahead and 
seemed to unroll under the smooth wheels. 

Suddenly the great car came to a shud- 
dering standstill. The brakes creaked ; 
there was a frightened cry — the cry of 
a little child. Dorothea’s eyes opened 
wide. The chauffeur had jumped from the 
car and was picking up a little girl from 
the side of the road where the car had 
thrown her. 

Where in that deserted land could a baby 
have come from! Mrs. Proctor realized at 
once that they were in the vegetable coun- 
try. Around them spread a mushroom 
growth of little shacks. These must be the 
pickers’ homes and this, one of their babies. 
Why wasn’t she kept safely at home? 

Aurora was crying piteously. She was 
not only hurt, but terribly frightened. Her 
leg ached and burned in a dreadful way. 

“ Broken leg, I think,” said the chauf- 
feur. 


62 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“What shall we do?” Mrs. Proctor 
looked despairingly about her. In another 
moment there appeared around a bend in 
the road two little girls with babies on their 
backs. Mrs. Proctor motioned to them 
questioningly, “Whose baby?” They did 
not understand and stood watching the lady 
with open-mouthed wonder. They knew 
the baby, however, and spoke her name. 

“So Aurora is her name, is it? Well, 
these children appear to know her, so she 
must belong here. But where on earth is 
the child’s mother?” 

“She must be at home somewhere,” sug- 
gested Dorothea. 

Mrs. Proctor looked around, but no 
grown-up person appeared in sight. At 
length the combined efforts of the three 
travelers made the little girls understand 
what was wanted, and they pointed the way 
to Aurora’s home. 

The old grandmother sat outside her 
shack making “tamales” for supper. For 
so many years she had stuffed corn husks 
in this way that even with her dim sight 
she could prepare and cook the supper over 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 63 

the fire of coals on the ground. At the 
sound of Aurora’s wail of distress she 
raised her head quickly, for she recognized 
her baby’s cry. She heard, also, strange 
English voices and sat as though paralyzed. 

Dorothea made a quick survey of the 
tiny home with its heap of soiled comfort- 
ables and blackened pots. One thing could 
be said for it, she thought, there was plenty 
of fresh air, for the shack was mostly 
cracks. In vain she looked around for 
what she could consider a bed on which 
to lay the baby. 

Being carried had not helped make the 
broken leg comfortable, and Aurora was 
screaming lustily. The old grandmother 
raised her voice, too, and wrung her hands. 

4 4 Come quickly, let’s get away from 
here,” panted Mrs. Proctor. 

4 4 But we can’t leave that baby we hurt 
with no one but a blind woman, and in such 
a place ! There must be a hospital — a nurs- 
ery — a church — a school — a kindergarten 
— something,” said Dorothea, going over 
all the names she knew of institutions a 
town ought to have. 


64 , STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

David, the chauffeur, laughed. 4 4 Pardon 
me, Miss, but those things don’t seem to 
grow around here. The nearest hospital — 
well, I guess the very nearest is where we 
are going.” 

Mrs. Proctor gasped. 4 4 What sort of 
people can they be! Why it’s hardly de- 
cent.” She gathered her coat more closely 
about her and made a move to withdraw 
from such a questionable neighborhood. 

4 4 Well,” said David, 4 4 they ’re all rather 
new to the country, and they take it as they 
find it, I guess.” 

The two women were not listening to 
him, however. Dorothea had already made 
up her mind there was but one thing to do 
— take the baby with them. Otherwise 
Aurora might be lame for life, if left there 
with not even a doctor around. So she 
quickly took a visiting card from the bag 
on her wrist and scribbled this little note: 
44 1 have taken the baby to the hospital and 
will bring her back.” Then with David 
carrying Aurora, they hurried to the car. 

It was a strange scene, the group of well- 
dressed Americans making off with a little, 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 65 

round, screaming, Mexican girl. Several 
other babies joined their voices to Aurora’s. 
Above all rose the high breaking sobs of 
the old woman calling on all the saints for 
help. 

“ Great kidnaping affair you are being 
party to here, Mater,” Dorothea teased her 
mother, who sat back hot and bored over 
the whole proceeding. She was to have 
little chance to act aloof, however, for the 
rest of the trip. It was obvious that Au- 
rora could not sit with David in front and 
must be propped up between the two 
women. 

Dorothea tried sincerely to make the 
baby comfortable, but, in any position, the 
poor little broken leg throbbed and hurt. 
She tried to pull away from it, but that 
only made it hurt more. Then she was 
thirsty, very thirsty. Dorothea finally un- 
derstood and gave her a drink of water. 

At length, exhausted with pain and cry- 
ing, Aurora grew quiet and fell asleep. 
Dorothea looked down on the little dirt- 
streaked face that lay against her sleeve 
and for the first time realized what a very 


66 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

sweet, dimpled face it was, with its frame 
of dark hair. “Poor Mexican baby!” she 
thought. “She’s pretty badly hurt, but 
we’ll bring her back all the better for this 
excursion.” 

It was evening in the camp before all the 
bean pickers returned home and the excit- 
ing news was poured forth. At first they 
could not understand the old grandmoth- 
er’s excited story — it seemed unbelievable. 
Was the old woman crazy'? Then the two 
girls who had directed Mrs. Proctor and 
Dorothea to the shack came with their 
story. Loud were the wails of the mother, 
the father swore vengeance by all the 
saints. The two little sisters, who were 
barely old enough to work in the beans, 
were awed at first and then joined their 
wails to the mother’s. The poor grand- 
mother was crushed with grief. Manuel, 
the big brother with a broad, pleasant face 
tanned almost black by the sun, alone 
seemed cool-headed. He questioned the 
group of neighbors which had gathered. 
Everybody talked and gesticulated to- 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 67 

gether. Finally from the story of the two 
girls Manuel made it clear that no kidnap- 
ing had occurred, only an accident, that 
the people who took Aurora away seemed 
to want to leave her at home, had even 
brought her to the shack, but because 
Aurora screamed with pain, they took her 
away again. 

“My poor baby, she’s killed, alas!” 
wailed the mother. 

Suddenly the old grandmother held out 
a rumpled card. She had just remembered 
it. Everyone crowded round. “It’s a 
ticket,” announced the father. No one 
could read English, so each had a guess at 
its meaning. 

“Perhaps it says they will make her well 
again and bring her back,” ventured one 
of the more optimistic neighbors. 

Manuel accepted this idea and said, 
“Surely that is what they will do, they 
have babies of their own. They will bring 
her back.” There was doubt in his mind, 
however, whether they would or not. He 
was certain that none of their pale babies 
could be as round or as pretty as his pet 


68 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

sister. But lie kept his doubts to himself 
and openly enlarged on the idea that some 
fine day up the long, white road would 
come the whir of a great machine, not dash- 
ing through as others did, but stopping and 
asking for the family of baby Aurora. 
How proud they would be then ! 

The mother and sister found some com- 
fort in the thought. So many common- 
place things happened every day to the 
babies in the camp, that it was almost a dis- 
tinction to have a baby carried away by 
automobilists. 

Someone at the factory deciphered the 
“ ticket,” as they called Miss Proctor’s 
card, and confirmed Manuel’s opinion that 
Aurora would be brought back some day. 
There was nothing they could do now, how- 
ever, for in the excitement of the moment 
Dorothea had omitted to write her address 
on the card. 

So life settled down to its usual routine 
of picking beans. The long days were 
spent between the plant rows, the evening 
meal was eaten round the fire as the cool 
night wind came on. At this hour often a 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 69 

song would rise from somewhere, blending 
with the music of a crude banjo; but soon 
all would be silent and still in the pickers’ 
camp. Boiled up in their blankets the peo- 
ple slept hard, for they must be up at the 
break of dawn and out again in the fields. 

As the days went by, the end of the local 
bean harvest drew near. The campers be- 
gan to talk of moving forward to the next 
bean section. No one could stay behind, 
for there would be no work left to do. 
Manuel wondered if their hopes about 
Aurora were to be disappointed, for noth- 
ing had yet been heard from her. 

Moving day, that interesting event, ar- 
rived. It did not take long to pack the 
household furniture, nor to take apart the 
houses and place the boards in piles ready 
for the donkeys. When everything was 
packed and loaded, there was still a bundle 
for each one to carry — either food, clothes, 
or babies. 

Every baby Aurora’s mother saw re- 
minded her of her own child whom she 
mourned as dead. “I will never see her 
again,” she wailed, and this did not seem 


70 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

unlikely, as there would be no one left to 
claim the child should she be returned. 

“It is not far that we are going, Mother. 
I can return from time to time and see if 
there is any news of her,” Manuel com- 
forted. But in his heart he had little hope. 

Meanwhile, it must be confessed, the lost 
Aurora was not worrying in the least. In 
the beautiful city to which Miss Proctor 
took the little Mexican child, stood a fine 
new hospital. The chauffeur drove there 
immediately. A kindly nurse took Aurora 
to a doctor, immaculate in his white, hos- 
pital uniform. He looked at the broken leg. 
“We will fix it up as good as new,” he as- 
sured Dorothea; “but it will take time, — 
some weeks, in fact.” 

Hours later, when Aurora awoke, she 
was in a new world. It was a world that 
was made up chiefly of rows and rows of 
little white iron beds and a vast space of 
shiny floor, the kind of floor on which to 
slip and slide. 

Aurora could not explore this new world 
as she had her old one, for her leg was stiff 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 71 

and big, — so big and all wrapped up that 
she could not move it. 

She explored, however, with her bright 
eyes and made friends with everyone,— 
children, nurses, and doctors. She liked 
especially the lady with the bright clothes 
who came to see her, always with her hands 
full of oranges and toys. 

To her surprise Dorothea found that the 
visits to the hospital, which she had first 
made from a sense of duty, became a pleas- 
ure to which she looked forward. When 
she appeared down the corridor, Aurora 
would begin to chuckle with glee and clap 
her brown hands so that the young lady’s 
entrance became a triumphal procession 
between rows of interested beaming faces. 

“Oh, you cunning little Mexican baby!” 
cried Dorothea as she kissed the fat brown 
cheeks. “I have a mind never to take you 
home at all. What on earth would my 
mother say to that ? And what would yours 
say?” 

Aurora gurgled some answer in her own 
peculiar tongue. You could take it to mean 
what you wished. 


72 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


When her leg was really well, Dorothea 
dressed the child in the daintiest clothes 
she could find. It was indeed an adorable 
little girl that she took with her from the 
hospital to the large stone house in which 
she lived. 

6 ‘ How soon are you going back with 
her?” was one of Mrs. Proctor’s first ques- 
tions. She had no desire to have her 
daughter take up as a new fad stealing 
Mexican babies, even though she had to 
confess to Dorothea that Aurora was cer- 
tainly charming. 

“Her people won’t know what to do with 
all those beautiful clothes,” said Mrs. 
Proctor. 

“I know it’s foolish,” sighed Dorothea; 
“but I thought it wouldn’t hurt them to 
see her like that, even if the clothes don’t 
last but a minute. I wonder how her 
mother will feel when she sees her baby 
clean and dainty for once!” 

Dorothea put off the return of the child 
a couple of days — just to be sure, she said, 
that the baby was in the best condition. 
Then the party started. 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 73 

What was their surprise when they 
reached the bean fields to find the forlorn 
sight of an abandoned settlement! Noth- 
ing was to be seen but a few tumble-down 
shacks which had been considered not 
worth taking along. The house Dorothea 
remembered so plainly right by the side of 
the road had disappeared completely, and 
no one was in sight. They spent some time 
hunting around the neighborhood, until 
David said they must go back or it would 
be too late for the long ride home. David 
added that this kind of people moves on to 
new pickings not very far away, and that 
another day they would start earlier and 
trace the bean pickers to their new camp- 
ing ground. 

4 ‘Poor little Aurora, they’ve lost you 
completely.” Dorothea sighed as she 
looked at the little lady in question, who 
did not seem at all forlorn, for she loved 
rides in the big car, and she loved Doro- 
thea, too. 

Only one week before this time Manuel 
had tramped all the way from the new 
camp to the old, only to return weary and 


74 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

discouraged. He wondered if he should 
try it again. He had no clue by which to 
trace his sister. 

But he did come back. One day some- 
thing seemed to draw him to the old camp- 
ing ground, though it meant a day away 
from the picking. He had given his mother 
little encouragement this time as he started 
out. It was the same story — miles of dusty 
road, then the deserted village, and no one 
in sight. There was not much use looking 
around. His throat felt strangely dry as 
he opened his handkerchief full of bread 
and cheese. He took a turn around the 
camp ground and then started up the road. 
There was nothing to tell him that miles 
away on that same road a gray automobile 
was traveling full speed toward the very 
spot he was leaving. 

It was that same day Dorothea decided 
to return once more to the site of the old 
camp. It did not seem right to go ahead 
with any plans she had for bringing up 
Aurora without first making every effort 
to find the child’s parents. But the car 
arrived at the lonely ruins of the deserted 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 75 

settlement, only to discover no clue. They 
then continued on along the white road. 
Aurora, cuddled up against Dorothea, was 
wide awake and pointing to many passing 
things that interested her. Suddenly she 
gave an excited jump. “Man’l, Man’l,” 
she cried and almost threw herself from 
the car. 

“Stop!” shouted Dorothea, just as 
David, recognizing something unusual in 
the child’s excited delight, threw on the 
brakes. 

Manuel it was indeed. He could scarcely 
believe his eyes. This little creature, his 
Aurora? There was no hesitation, how- 
ever, on Aurora’s part. She flung herself 
headfirst at the big brother who used to 
throw her around so delightfully. 

The boy tried to explain in broken Eng- 
lish. Miss Proctor and David got a gen- 
eral impression of what he meant — that the 
camp was now farther on. “Get in,” Doro- 
thea motioned to the seat beside the chauf- 
feur, “and show us the way.” 

It was a great experience for Manuel, 
sitting on the front seat of the great car. 


76 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

It was a great experience, too, for the 
whole encampment when the party arrived. 
The rejoicing over Aurora might well have 
taken the form of the beautiful words of 
long ago, had Aurora’s mother known 
them. Ignorant and uneducated though 
she was, her heart sang a song that was 
like it: “My little daughter was dead and 
is alive again, was lost and is found!” 

Dorothea found it hard to tear herself 
away, hard to kiss good-by the child \vhose 
dainty dress was already a sorry sight from 
rapturous embraces. She pressed a crisp 
bill into the mother’s rough hands. “For 
Aurora,” she said and was gone. 

The automobile moved noiselessly out 
upon the great white road that leads away 
from the vegetable fields toward the city. 
Dorothea waved as long as she could make 
out the shack. “My little round Aurora is 
at home,” she said half aloud. 

“David, did you say there was nothing 
here, nothing anywhere, not even a nursery 
or a kindergarten for little children? I 
could hardly bring myself to leave her. 
,What if she should get hurt again!” 


THE HOUSE THAT MOVED AWAY 77 

“Oh! she’ll probably grow up all right 
like the rest of them have, without any- 
thing,” was the cheerful answer. 

“Like the rest of them,” thought Miss 
Proctor. That was what hurt most. But 
after all what could she do to make her 
Aurora grow up any other way ! Hospitals, 
schools, churches don’t just grow, they must 
be planted. The thought came with a shock 
to the wealthy city girl for whom every- 
thing was conveniently “just round the 
corner.” Somehow the busy bean pickers 
had been forgotten. “Some of us must 
wake up and plant hospitals and such 
things where these people are,” she ad- 
mitted with conviction, “and it surely will 
keep us busy planning for all the things 
they need. There must be gardens for the 
children to grow in as well as gardens for 
the beans. And they must be planted for 
all the year round for these people who live 
in houses that move away.” 






























THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 




























































































THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 


I WONDER what it will be tonight,” 
said Jim in a loud whisper to his 
neighbor as a group of boys settled down 
on the floor as near as they could get to the 
Lady Beautiful, who sat beside the fire. 
“What do you want it to be?” she asked. 
Jim thought a minute. “I would like a 
story of a big city, a real big one — New 
York, perhaps.” 

“How about it?” The lady turned to 
the rest. 

“That’s all right,” came from all sides. 
“Well, we will go then to the city, the 
darkest, brightest spot of all. I wonder 
what we have here in this home that comes 
to us from the city!” The Lady Beautiful 
glanced about. A group of little girls was 
sitting so that their many-colored aprons 
made a sort of patchwork quilt upon the 
floor. “Aprons, of course!” she exclaimed. 
“The aprons came from the city. Let us 
take our journey tonight to a home from 
which aprons come.” 


79 


80 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


They Who Find America 

Away, away through the night flew a 
little cloud, its filmy streamers floating out 
behind. It flew over the tops of the trees 
and over the rivers and meadows, until at 
last below it there was nothing but tall 
buildings. It brushed against great shad- 
owy office buildings, then flew on, waving 
to the sparkling lights that winked and 
twinkled so roguishly on broad, lighted 
streets. It passed over a great section of 
buildings that looked like square boxes with 
rows and rows of lighted shelves, each 
shelf divided into pigeon-holes. In the 
shelves lived the people of the city, all 
tucked away at night, each in the little sec- 
tion he called his own home. 

Then the cloud flew where the apart- 
ments grew smaller and darker, and the 
smaller they grew, the more people crowded 
into the corners, and these “ shelves” were 
called the tenements of the great city. 
Here the little cloud settled down on a nar- 
row iron stairway, a fire escape, at the top 
floor of one of these tenements. A tiny 



© Underwood and Underwood 


“In the shelves lived the people of the city all tucked 
away, each in the little section he called 
his own home.” 








THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 


83 


window gave a peep into a small room 
where a light burned dimly. There were 
dozens of aprons, a whole heap of blue ones 
cluttered in a disconsolate heap on the 
floor. Piled high on a table were apron 
strings, and nearby sat a little girl sewing 
as fast as her fingers could fly. She was 
fastening the strings on to the aprons. Be- 
side her sat a little Italian woman sewing 
also. Neither had spoken for ever and ever 
so long. At last the mother laid down her 
work wdth a sigh and looked at the little 
figure bent over the apron strings. “ Little 
Liza, how long and fast you have sewed! 
You must be very tired.” It was hours 
that they had sat there working. 

The mother rose wearily and went to 
cover more closely two children who lay 
feet to feet on a low couch. It was cold 
in the dimly-lighted room. All day there 
had been no coal to put in the little stove. 

“I wonder where it is,” she sighed as 
she resumed her seat, her voice full of 
weariness. 

“What, Mother?” Liza stopped, too, 
and stretched her stiff little hands. 


84 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“I have thought often that it is lost,” 
confessed the dark little woman. “ Surely 
this is not the America we heard of before 
we came here. It is not the land of which 
they told us in Italy, but a country of 
strange, hard ways. There are none who 
try to understand when one asks the way. 
They brush one and go on. They are all 
hurrying. Even the food is not good. I 
was never troubled over my babies in Italy. 
They grew rosy and fat eating what we all 
ate. But now — poor little Nickie is so thin 
he is like to blow away. Yes, it is a coun- 
try with strange, hard ways,” she repeated 
sadly. 

“ Mother, I wonder if it is we who are 
lost and not America. I think the America 
we heard of is here somewhere — only we 
have not found it: At the Friendly House, 
you know — ” 

She was interrupted by the entrance of 
Tito. He flung his cap on the table where 
Liza rescued it quickly from being entirely 
lost in the pile of apron strings. There 
was not a spot in the room that was not 
piled high with something, — it was such a 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 85 

very small room for six people to live in! 

“Well, Tito, where is your father? He 
never comes home any more,” wailed the 
mother. 

“I guess he is afraid to come, for he has 
no money to bring home for you and the 
children. They have no more money to 
give out at the meetings as they did at 
first. He does not even go to them because 
he cannot understand.” 

“Where is he, then? But why do I ask? 
I know what he is doing. He is with that 
crowd of men who get drink secretly. But 
what is it that makes you seem glad?” she 
added impatiently. “I know you have had 
nothing to eat, though that you try to keep 
from us. My poor Tito,” she moaned, 
softening, “you were ever a brave lad. 
What gives you courage in this strange 
land?” 

“I cannot describe it, Mother, but at the 
meetings of the men I feel that I am not 
alone in this big country. I feel that there 
are men and boys who mean to stand by 
each other. They will some day make 
things better in the dusty shop, and we 


86 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

will have more food and coal in our homes. 
We may even find somewhere something 
beautiful. I cannot tell how I feel it, 
but as I listen and every night come to 
know more of what the strange tongues 
say, I know I was right in coming out of 
the shop.” 

“Then the men did not gather around 
you and tell you to come out as they did 
your father?” 

“No, I was young and in another room 
of the work. The boss man of my room 
comes to me and offers me more money in 
the envelop if I do not go. I go out from 
the factory thinking hard, and I meet the 
men so eager, so full of joy that every- 
thing is settled and they are going to have 
something to do. I ask all about it and I 
have many answers. Some say there will 
be no more dust from the stone we cut to 
choke the throat, others think it will mean 
more milk for bambinos, others know it 
will mean we can buy shoes and clothes. 
One man who speaks Italian asked me 
about our family and how long we are from 
the home country. Then I think that this 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 87 

must be the America that we heard of 
where people work together.’ ’ 

“Oh, we all believed much when we 
came,” said the mother bitterly, “but see 
how we live!” 

“I know, Mother, but such is the way 
they all talk at the meeting. They asked 
tonight if there were any in great need. I 
didn’t understand until the man next to 
me explained later, and then they had taken 
all the names. They want to help. I 
should have stayed until the meeting was 
over, for some seem to think more good 
news will come before many hours, but I 
was so tired.” 

“Ah, my poor little boy,” sighed his 
mother. Tito was tall and large for his 
age, so the factory had taken him even 
though he was a year under the youngest 
working age. 

The baby coughed and cried. The mother 
hurriedly dipped the corner of her hand- 
kerchief in some sweetened water and ran 
to put it in the child’s mouth. 

“We must get something. There’s noth- 
ing left to eat and no coal for two days,” 


'88 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


whispered Liza to her brother. “ I have 
'thought of going to the Friendly House .’ ’ 

“The Friendly House!” exclaimed the 
mother, rejoining them. “It is always the 
Friendly House. She comes back and says 
we must put shining oily cloth on the table 
and eat there, washing it off each day, nay, 
after every meal. Have they nothing bet- 
ter to do?” 

“You know I have told you many things. 
It was the music on that Sunday that car- 
ried me up the stairs though I was so 
scared I hardly knew what I was doing. 
You know yourself how much better I speak 
the English since I have learned of them. 
They too speak of things as Tito does. I 
think they are wanting good for every- 
body,” finished the little girl rallying to 
the defense of the Church House. Again 
the baby cried. The boy who had flung 
himself on the one bed in the room pulled 
himself up with a jerk. 

“Come, we must do something. I think 
I can find the way to go to Father if Liza 
will come with me. He is always gentle 
with her.” 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 


89 


4 6 Go out alone at night with only your 
young brother ¥” exclaimed the mother, 
turning to Liza. 

“All the girls do that here, Mother. I 
will be back very soon.” Liza smoothed the 
hair from the worn forehead and pressed 
her young red lips on the rough skin, as her 
mother threw her shawl around the child. 

“A strange country indeed!” The tired 
little mother summed up all the puzzled 
perplexity and pain of her mind in the 
short phrase that she repeated dully. “A 
strange country indeed!” 

“We will yet find America,” called Liza 
from the landing. 

The two children slipped down the five 
flights of dark stairs — the glimmer of their 
mother’s light, held high for them, grew 
fainter, then darkness swallowed it up 
completely and they stumbled out from the 
last flight into the street. 

Neither spoke, for each was struggling 
to be brave. The less said, the better, they 
thought. 

Tito led the way through back alleys and 
narrow streets. High heaps of snow here 


90 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

and there had gathered to themselves by a 
sort of mutual attraction tin cans, fruit 
peelings, odds and ends of food and be- 
longings that always collect in such places. 

They hurried along, Tito knocking his 
chapped hands together to keep warm. At 
;fche corner they turned upon a better- 
lighted street. A lady crossed from the 
opposite side and walked just ahead of 
them. Suddenly she turned, as if she had 
dropped something. The children came to 
a standstill beside her, and Tito stooped 
quickly, running his hand over the ground 
to pick up anything which might have 
fallen. 

Then everything happened in a flash. 
She said something in a harsh, quick voice, 
and Tito darted away. What she said, Liza 
could not understand, probably Tito did 
not, but she raised her voice and shouted. 
Two policemen came running around the 
corner. 

What the trouble was, Liza did not 
know, but she ran, her brother ran, the 
policemen ran, shouting English that would 
have challenged anyone to understand. 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 91 

As they rounded a dark corner, Liza 
stepped back into a doorway, breathless and 
panting. Around the next corner went 
the others, but Tito’s quick feet outdid 
them and he gained his own street with no 
one in sight. He bounded up the stairs, 
without turning to see the big policeman’s 
figure as it dashed into view at that mo- 
ment. 

Only a few seconds passed between the 
boy’s swift entrance to his home and the 
heavy thud of the police as they bustled 
into the wretched tenement and bolted the 
door behind them. The little mother wept 
hysterically as these representatives of the 
law took possession of her home. The chil- 
dren awoke to add their bit to the noise 
and confusion. Tito stood sullen, trying 
to make out what the men were saying. 
“No! No!” he put in dramatically in lulls 
between their heated words. When they 
had finished searching the room, even the 
previous lack of order was as nothing to 
the chaos they had created. 

Tito, they took away with them and left 
the frightened woman wringing her hands 


92 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


and wailing as only Italian women can. 
Neighbors peered in, but withdrew — the 
police had been there. 

4 4 Tito, Tito,” moaned the mother, “where 
have they taken him? And my little Liza 
too, is lost!” She beat her breast. 

From where Liza crouched, she could see 
the woman still looking on the ground. 
Presently she went on a few steps and then 
stopped to talk to another policeman who 
had come upon the scene. A few minutes 
later around the corner appeared the two 
policemen and Tito with them. They were 
talking loudly and unintelligibly to the 
boy as they passed. Then there was silence 
again in the little alley and only the chance 
passer-by crossed the corner where the sad 
mix-up had occurred. 

The truth of what had happened dawned 
slowly on Liza. The lady had dropped 
something, had thought Tito and she had 
taken it, and now they must be taking her 
brother to jail. What would happen to 
him? Her mind was filled with frightened 
images of Tito behind the bars in some 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 


93 


dark dungeon. The numb coldness that 
gripped her made it hard to think or act. 
She must do something. Perhaps what the 
lady lost was still there. Oh, if she could 
find it and save Tito! 

She ran to the spot and knelt on the cold, 
ice-crusted pavement, feeling over the sur- 
face with her little bare fingers. Nothing 
there! A dozen people had passed since 
the occurrence. What hope was there ! 
But she bent over the edge of the curb, 
running her fingers through a crack that 
ran between the pavement and the frozen 
pile of snow shoveled into the street. A 
jagged point — a piece of ice — no, it was 
too hard for that. It moved, yes, she had 
it now out on her hand. Not a piece of 
ice at all, but a lovely thing that shone and 
sparkled as it hung from a tiny chain. 

A heavy hand came down on the child’s 
shoulder, so hard that Liza almost dropped 
the precious thing she had just found. 

“What, still here?” said a man’s voice. 
“And you were the one that had it all 
along! He gave it to you, eh, and ran?” 

The girl looked at him with her great 


94 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

dark eyes full of bewilderment. She could 
not understand all he said, but she under- 
stood the accusing tone and shook her head. 
“No, no, I find. Tito where?” she ques- 
tioned. 

“You’ll find out fast enough, just this 
way please.” The man meant to be kindly, 
but he spoke in the loud voice that people 
use in speaking to foreigners. They try 
to gain understanding by dint of noise. 
Liza went with him willingly enough, for 
it meant going to Tito. 

It was not until the next morning, how- 
ever, that they met in the children’s court. 
Things looked dark for the two, even when 
Liza was produced. 

In broken words, using all her newly- 
gained English, Liza tried to explain. She 
was puzzled indeed. Bravely she had left 
her hiding place to hunt the piece of evi- 
dence that would free Tito. Now things 
seemed worse than ever. She had done no 
good. She was on the verge of tears. 
Would no one understand, no one believe 
her? Mother was right, it was a strange, 
hard country. With the thought of the lit- 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 


95 


tie mother waiting so scared at home, Liza 
gulped and the last word ended with a sob. 
She put her hands over her flaming face. 

She did not see the quiet-looking woman 
who had walked up the aisle and stood 
waiting to speak a word. The judge turned 
to her as he often had turned before with 
a sigh of relief. 

“I know this little girl. She comes to 
our church classes. I think she is telling 
the truth, trying to tell it. Let me ask her 
to tell me the story in her own language.” 

With the first words of that quiet, kindly 
voice that she had heard before, Liza 
looked up. She would have run to the 
woman, had she not been so frightened. 
Under the persuasive questioning of one 
who seemed to understand, Liza told the 
whole mixed-up story. 

When translated to the judge, it seemed 
sensible enough. And then, too, these chil- 
dren did not look like thieves. Their faces 
were bright and honest, though sadly 
pinched now with cold, hunger, and fear. 

‘ 4 Will you be responsible for them?” the 
judge asked the lady. 


96 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“Yes, gladly,” she replied. 

They left the court, one on either side 
of their new friend, and it seemed to Tito 
and Liza as if they were walking in a 
dream. 

“You have not been to us for many days, 
Liza. What has been the matter?” 

“I sew — working home,” explained Liza. 
“Men no job.” The strike again, thought 
the worker. The little girl’s cheeks seemed 
thinner than usual. How many had suf- 
fered these cold winter days! 

Just then a man passed the three. He 
was walking with a buoyant step, his head 
held high. He noticed Tito and stopped to 
say, “Heard the news? It has just come — 
this morning. It is all fixed up. Not all 
we ask for, but pretty good, and every 
man back at his job tomorrow.” 

Vaguely Tito and Liza took in more from 
his actions than from his words. 

“I go to tell the men so we will all be 
in our places tomorrow.” He threw up 
his cap for joy, as he went on. Tito threw 
up his cap, too, with a quick burst of Ital- 
ian feeling. 


THEY WHO FIND AMERICA 97 

As they walked toward the tenement in 
which they lived, the lady talked with them 
in their own tongue, and discovered their 
needs. She saw to it that they carried 
home with them milk for the baby and a 
loaf of bread for themselves. 

The icy hand of the little girl, laid on 
her warm one as they climbed the dark 
flight of stairs, made her ask, “Have you 
no coat, Liza, that you are so cold?” 

“No,” answered Liza simply. How good 
the lady was to care ! 

“When you come around to the house 
today I must see if there is a coat and some 
mittens for you that other American chil- 
dren have passed on, as one does in a big 
family to the younger ones who are grow- 
ing up.” 

“American children?” murmured Liza 
wonderingly. “They bring things there?” 

“Yes, indeed. Tito must come, too,” went 
on the lady. “Bring him, Liza, to the 
Friendly House.” 

“I have wanted him to come,” said Liza, 
“for he can sing, and he could be with 
the boys who lead the songs.” 


98 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“ There are many things he could do with 
other boys who are all learning to be real 
Americans.’ ’ 

“What is this place?” asked Tito 
abruptly. 

With a wisdom she did not herself real- 
ize, the lady answered slowly in almost the 
boy’s own words. “It is a spot where peo- 
ple work together for each other. People 
who know English and people who don’t, 
come there. Boys and girls who have much 
in books and clothes and toys share them 
with those who have little. They do not 
want anyone in America to need things or 
anyone to stand alone. And your mother, 
there are many mothers who come there, 
too, with their babies, and — ” 

“Oh, Mother!” they had reached the top 
floor of the tenement by this time. Liza 
stumbled in without explanation or intro- 
duction of the visitor. “The Friendly 
House is for you, too, and for Tito. I, also, 
thought America was lost last night, but 
this friend has come who will show us the 
way. Now we can all find America to- 
gether!” 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 



ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 


I T was over — the story of those who find 
America. The boys and girls were very 
still ; no one wanted to move. Miss Paxton 
had announced that it was the last story 
evening that the Lady Beautiful could be 
with them. A group of boys started a 
cheer. “ Three cheers for the Lady Beau- 
tiful!” Rose Ellen’s name for the guest 
had come quite naturally to Jim’s lips, 
and he had led the rest. 

The lady flushed with pleasure. No one 
would ever know what a joy it had been 
to her to talk with these children of the 
orphanage. The little girls crowded 
around to say goodrby. 

“Will you ever come back again?” asked 
Rose Ellen eagerly. 

“I should certainly love to sometime,” 
smiled the lady. 

“I know. We must plan something that 
she will just have to come back for,” de- 
clared the little girl vigorously, as the loved 
visitor was carried off by Miss Paxton. 

99 


100 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


A few of the boys and girls remained 
gathered about the fire. “Some stories, 
that Lady Beautiful of yours can spin 
out!” admitted Jim to Bose Ellen. He had 
taken a scornful attitude just at first, 
largely to tease Bose Ellen, but the cheer 
he had led that evening had given him 
completely away, and showed that he too 
was an enthusiastic admirer of the new 
trustee. 

“Say, don’t you think we could make 
a game about it?” asked Bose Ellen after 
a moment. “I can think of the nicest 
game, only I haven’t thought very far,” 
and she turned to the whole group enthu- 
siastically. 

“Sure,” replied Jim, “fire ahead.” 

Many heads were, soon close together 
planning. Half a dozen were talking at 
once. The bell had to be rung twice be- 
fore there was the slightest motion to obey 
the bedtime signal. 

“Some great scheme is hatching,” 
thought Miss Paxton. It was a sure sign 
of action in the air when Bose Ellen and 
Jim Grange got together. “Probably some 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 101 

mischief/ ’ she said to herself. “But what 
a great success the story hours with the 
new trustee have been!” 

The next day Miss Paxton learned that 
the “great scheme” was not mischief, but a 
plan for the coming holiday season. 

As Christmas came near, each class 
group of children chose some spot as their 
own and kept secret what they were plan- 
ning, making, and inventing. There was a 
lot of curiosity and great excitement in the 
air. Miss Paxton had cooperated beau- 
tifully with the scheme Rose Ellen and 
Jim planned. 

One night when the story hour was past 
and a few girls were talking things over 
with the Lady Beautiful, Rose Ellen had 
said: “We love to hear these stories, but 
they make me feel like crying because here 
in this home we can’t do anything to help.” 

“Can’t you*?” asked the Lady Beautiful 
quizzically. “Just think about it.” 

Rose Ellen did think about it and be- 
cause she thought, the Christmas plan had 
grown. 

The great event of Christmas day was 


102 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

to be an exhibition — an exhibition not of 
neatly written school compositions, nor of 
embroidered doilies, nor of fancy ribbony 
frills; but a wonderful array of things 
made by the boys and girls themselves for 
the children of Porto Rico and Alaska and 
for the children of the city and of the field. 
Bach class group was to act out a charade 
which represented the life of the people to 
whom their box was to be sent. The other 
groups would guess the meaning and name. 

There is not much to give away or to 
make things of in an orphanage, so it took 
a great deal of planning and whispering in 
corridors to carry out Rose Ellen’s idea. 

“I am making something for the little 
lame Maria,” said Maggie, one of the 
younger group, to Rose Ellen one day. 
4 4 It’s clothes, but you never put it on.” 

What could it be! Rose Ellen hugged 
the little girl in passing and whispered a 
guess in her ear. She knew that there were 
many tiny handkerchiefs being made out of 
rag-bag scraps. Miss Paxton had sug- 
gested them from her own wide experience 
of schools and small noses. 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 103 

Some wonderful toys were being made 
by the older boys. Bob Williams thought 
windmills would be especially fine in Porto 
Rico. The little boys all banded together 
to make Noadluk a book. He really de- 
served one, they thought, and they would 
make a book worth waiting for. 

Some of the older girls who pretended • 
to be knitting sweaters for themselves had 
to admit that on closer view these sweaters 
looked like mittens and mufflers. As their 
busy fingers flew, they chatted with each 
other. 

“I can just see the little Italian girl 
who will wear this red scarf,” said Esther. 

“It will be becoming, but not any more 
so than my blue one will be to the golden- 
haired Swedish girl who comes often to the 
Friendly House,” added Gertrude. 

One group of little girls wanted to do 
something no one else would think of, so 
they had the sewing teacher help them 
make bandages for the babies and children 
who break their arms or legs. 

The whole scheme was great fun. Each 
boy and girl had a part and each was happy 


104 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

in working hard. Miss Paxton found the 
plan left little time for quarreling or mis- 
chief-making. 

The atmosphere before Christmas is al- 
ways full of anticipation, but never before 
had there been so much excitement in an 
orphanage. It grew and grew. Paces 
beamed till they seemed actually to be 
rounder by the time the great day came. 

Something of all this joyous excitement 
was passed on to the Lady Beautiful by 
Miss Paxton when she saw her one day. 
“You started the ball rolling. Would you 
care to come over for the great celebra- 
tion ?” 

Lady Beautiful was delighted. Christ- 
mas afternoon was not an easy time to get 
away from home, but perhaps her own 
children would come with her. She handed 
Miss Paxton a check, “To send the things 
away with,” she explained. “It can be my 
children’s part in the lovely gift.” 

Later she told Charles and Helen about 
this gift which she had made in their 
names. They had not earned it, nor had 
they even decided about it, so they did not 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 105 

get much fun from the really generous 
Christmas present. Anyway, they were 
busy with preparations for their own 
Christmas. 

Helen had spent hours and hours in 
her room wrapping up pretty things in 
spotless tissue paper and deciding where 
to put the bright Christmas stickers and 
tags. She fretted a great deal over the 
gifts she was making. Even the night be- 
fore Christmas she was still unsatisfied. 

“I must find a better present for Gladys 
Marks,’ ’ she worried. “Dorothy told me 
what Gladys had for me. She was shop- 
ping with her when Dorothy bought my 
gift. Oh, dear, I really ought to have more 
money for Christmas presents, Mother!” 

Mother put on her thinking cap and 
something was found as a better present 
for Gladys. 

“But do you have to wrap that up be- 
fore you go?” Her mother’s voice held 
a shade of disappointment. “Do leave it 
and let us have a few Christmas carols be- 
fore you and Charles leave for the Hartley 
party. Daddy would love it so.” 


.106 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


“Oh, well — just one then. Come on, 
Charles,” and Helen joined her mother at 
the piano. 

Father sat in the leather chair by the 
open fire. He laid his hand on the tawny 
head beside him, which was bent low over 
a new story book. 

“Come, Charles, Mother and Helen want 
you to sing with them.” 

Charles read on to the end of his para- 
graph, then, yawning, closed the book and 
walked over to the piano. He tried to look 
bored. 

“It must be one I know,” he stipulated. 

“All right, then, choose it quickly. It’s 
always your choice!” and Helen’s petulant 
voice added nothing to the cheer of Christ- 
mas Eve. 

Her mother patiently refrained from re- 
proving her. Charles really loved to sing, 
in spite of pretending to be bored, and he 
soon threw all the power of his lusty young 
lungs into this quaint old song: 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 


107 


Good King Wenceslaus 

Good King Wenceslaus looked out, 

On the Feast of Stephen, 

When the snow lay round about 
Deep and crisp and even. 

Brightly shone the moon that night, 
Though the frost was cruel, 

When a poor man came in sight 
Gathering winter fuel. 

Hither, page, and stand by me, 

If thou know’st it, telling, 

Yonder peasant who is he? 

Where and what his dwelling ? 

Sire, he lives a good league hence, 
Underneath the mountain, 

Right beside the forest fence, 

By Saint Agnes ’ fountain. 

Bring me flesh and bring me wine, 

Bring me pine logs hither, 

Thou and I will see him dine 
When we bear them thither. 

Page and monarch forth they went 
Forth they went together, 

Through the rough wind’s wild lament, 
And the bitter weather. 

Sire, the night is darker now 
And the wind blows stronger, 

Fails my heart, I know not how, 

I can go no longer; 

Mark my footsteps good my page, 

Tread thou in them boldly, 

Thou shalt find the winter’s rage 
Freeze thy blood less coldly. 


108 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


In his master’s steps he trod, 

Where the snow lay dinted, 

Heat was in the very sod 
Which the saint had printed. 

Therefore, Christian men, be sure, 

Wealth or rank possessing, 

Ye who now will bless the poor, 

Shall yourselves -find blessing. 

When the children were gone to the 
Christmas party, Mother and Father 
trimmed the tree. A tall graceful fir it 
was that just fitted the corner of the li- 
brary. How lovely it would look all lighted 
up against the dark woodwork! 

“ Won’t Charles be crazy about these 
cars!” Father was down on his knees try- 
ing them out. 

“His father certainly is,” laughed the 
Lady Beautiful. “I suppose he won’t have 
any more use for those smaller ones he got 
last birthday, for these are what he wanted 
then.” 

“What a pile of things from Grand- 
mother! I do believe it’s a collapsible doll 
house with all the furnishings. Do look 
at this — a tiny Victrola! Did you ever!” 
They were like two children arranging 
everything in place. 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 109 

4 ‘It seems a shame for just one little 
girl to have all this,” the Lady Beautiful 
sighed. “I am afraid we are spoiling our 
pretty Helen. I hate to hear that dissat- 
isfied tone in her voice so often. I hope 
everything will be happy on Christmas 
day.” 

Everything was quite happy the next 
day. Just opening presents around the 
tree took most of the morning. Indeed 
there were so many packages that no one 
had time to look at anything very long. 
Mother kept catching up tags and cards 
and trying to keep track of them all for 
“thank-you” notes. 

“Aw, Mother, have I got to write all 
those letters? I tell you it makes Christ- 
mas too much like work,” grumbled 
Charles. 

“I know one note that will be a short 
one. Look at this crazy thing from Jane. 
It looks like the Five-and-Ten, and I gave 
her that lovely paint box!” 

“Well, that’s a great system!” laughed 
Father. “If the length of your note de- 
pends on the value of the gift, I guess it 


110 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

will have to be some twenty page wholesale 
epistle you write Grandma and Aunt Hattie 
for that complete housekeeping establish- 
ment, Helen. Have you even seen all these 
wonderful things'?” He pointed out an 
adorable manicure set on the dressing-table. 

“Oh!” gasped Helen, “how wonderful! 
Dorothy got a set for her doll last year, but 
it wasn’t half so white and shining as this.” 
She was down on the floor looking through 
the lovely playhouse whose wonders she 
had only begun to explore. 

“I wish Charles would play house. At 
least, he might give my dolls a ride in his 
train.” 

Charles took up the idea gladly and all 
was peace and happiness in the home of the 
Lady Beautiful. For the next half-hour 
the young lady dolls enjoyed a fine outing, 
then the wreck came off which Charles had 
staged so splendidly with the real switches. 
It was a great success as a wreck, except 
that he had forgotten the dolls in his ex- 
citement. Tears did not mend the chipped 
china nose, but only made Helen’s little 
pink one red. 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 111 

During the morning’s play they had both 
forgotten about the trip to the orphanage 
Mother had spoken of some days before. 
The big Christmas dinner was over, and 
they all felt a bit too full and uncomfort- 
able. 

“Must I go to the orphanage, Mother, 
when I have that whole chest of tools I 
haven’t even counted over?” 

“No, I just thought you’d like to go, 
Charles, and see the toys those boys have 
made. We would like to have you take the 
trip along with the rest of us in the car.” 

“Oh, but I can’t go, Mother, I forgot 
about it,” burst in Helen. “I told Gladys 
I’d come over there and see all her things, 
and we were going together to Betty 
Parks’. They always have such a wonder- 
ful tree, you know.” 

Charles caught a glimpse of the disap- 
pointment on his mother’s face. “Mummie 
dear, if you really want us — . Come on, 
Sis, let’s go along. I’ve never seen an or- 
phanage anyhow.” 

Helen hesitated. 

“I’ll telephone Mrs. Parks that you for- 


112 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

got a little engagement with thirty young 
gentlemen not to speak of more than that 
many young ladies as well,” suggested 
Mother. 

Helen laughed in spite of herself, and 
the day was saved. Her mother breathed 
a sigh of relief ; there was not going to be a 
scene. So they all piled into the big car 
with Daddy and were off over the hard 
packed snow. 

Everything was a whirl of excitement 
in the large, comfortable orphanage. The 
whole atmosphere was festive. Evergreen 
branches which the boys had got from 
the woods hung over the doorways and 
decorated the rooms. All the children to- 
gether had decorated the house with much 
consulting and standing off, “ looking at 
the effect upside down, and right side up,” 
as Rose Ellen termed it. 

There was a nice tree, a gift from the 
First Church. There were more wonderful 
inventions on it in the line of trimming 
than any tree in history. That at least 
was what the Lady Beautiful exclaimed, 
and Bob announced it behind the scenes 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 113 

to the first squad of characters who were 
busy getting ready. 

Of course, there was the usual long wait 
before things began, but everybody was in 
such good spirits that the various hitches 
and delays caused no serious annoyance. 

4 ‘How on earth did you ever bring such 
a celebration about?” asked the Lady 
Beautiful of Miss Paxton when all was 
over. “The charades, representing the 
people to whom the gifts were going, were 
cleverly planned, and the gifts themselves 
were unique and very well made.” 

“I? Why I did almost nothing at all. 
You started it all with your stories. They 
put an idea into the ingenious head of Rose 
Ellen.” 

“My Rose Ellen with the long dark 
braids and big blue eyes ? I practically told 
those little tales to her. She used to sit 
quite near me, you know, and her eyes 
were full of both interest and wistfulness.” 

“Rose Ellen of course was not alone in 
working out this plan. The children are 
all used to falling in line with her schemes 
and pranks, so they entered into this one 


114 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


with zest as the next new thing to do. It 
has meant a lot to us all. Somehow it has 
brought us all together — made this place 
more of a real home than it ever was be- 
fore. ” 

“More of a real home,” thought the 
Lady Beautiful. “So Rose Ellen has found 
out an answer to her own query!” 

When apples and popcorn were being 
served around the lighted tree, Lady Beau- 
tiful found Rose Ellen by herself for a 
moment. It is doubtful which was the 
more excited of the two. 

“Rose Ellen, you promised to tell me 
when you found out the answer.” 

“Answer to what?” asked Rose Ellen, 
surprised. 

“What makes a home. Don’t you re- 
member?” 

“Yes, but I have been right here in the 
orphanage and I have scarcely thought 
about it lately. I have been thinking about 
those other interesting homes which needed 
things — and we’ve had such fun making 
the things for them!” 

“Rose Ellen,” the Lady was speaking 



© Publishers Photo Service 

“What could it be that Rose Ellen had given to this home beautiful !” 



ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 117 

very low, “I have a home, too, that needs 
things. Tonight you have helped me to 
discover just what it is our home lacks/ ’ 

“Your home lacks? It can’t lack any- 
thing. Why I know just what your home 
is like! I can just see it!” Rose Ellen 
closed her eyes. “It is the really, truly 
American home where everything is just 
lovely. It is the home beautiful.” 

“Yes, everything there is lovely,” agreed 
the Lady. “Charles and Helen have almost 
everything they ask for. Yet with all this 
in the ‘home beautiful,’ as you call it, one 
thing has been lacking. That one thing 
you have given us or perhaps I would bet- 
ter say, you are giving us.” 

Rose Ellen’s eager face was beaming. 
What could it be that she had given to this 
home beautiful! With the other children 
of the orphanage she had been trying to 
give help to the homes that needed things. 
None of them had thought for one moment 
that a home beautiful ever needed any- 
thing. Nothing in the twelve years of her 
life had so surprised her as these words of 
her new friend. 


118 STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 

Lady Beautiful placed her hands lov- 
ingly on Rose Ellen’s shoulders and said 
gently: “We have never known what it 
was to work together as a family to make 
other people happy.” 

Just then Helen ran over to them. 
“Mother,” she exclaimed, “we want to do 
it, too, Charles and I! Oh, there are so 
many things I have just thought of that 
could go in the box to Porto Rico!” 

Charles joined them and put in his word, 
“My things won’t be done for this year, 
because I am going to invent them and 
make them with my new tools!” 

“We, too, had so many ideas we couldn’t 
get done this year,” joined in Rose Ellen. 
“We’ll all have to go right on and have it 
over again next Christmas.” 

“Say, Mother, I wish Rose Ellen and 
Carrie and Esther and Jane, and — ” Helen 
searched hastily in her memory for more 
of these new-learned names, — could come 
and play with me. They would just love 
my doll house!” 

“I think it will be lovely if they can,” 
agreed her mother heartily. 


ROSE ELLEN MAKES A HOME 119 

Rose Ellen gasped with thrilled anticipa- 
tion. 

That would be one of the first ways to 
make ours more of a real home, thought the 
Lady Beautiful, — to begin right away to 
share the doll house. 

They turned toward the tree as Jim, the 
song leader, started a closing carol. For a 
measure his clear, high voice carried it 
alone, then they all joined in and sang: 

As with gladness men of old 
Did the guiding star behold ; 

As with joy they hailed its light, 

Leading onward, beaming bright ; 

So, most gracious Lord, may we 
Evermore be led to thee. 


As with joyful steps they sped 
To that lowly manger-bed, 

There to bend the knee before 
Him whom heaven and earth adore; 
So may we with willing feet 
Ever seek thy mercy-seat. 

As they offered gifts most rare, 

At that manger rude and bare, 

So may we with holy joy, 

Pure and free from sin’s alloy, 

All our costliest treasures bring, 
Christ, to thee, our heavenly king. 


120 


STAY-AT-HOME JOURNEYS 


It was Jim, the “ butler,” who opened 
the door and helped the guests into their 
car. He was not a bit stiff now, his sandy 
curls had escaped from their watery 
smoothness in the excitement of the eve- 
ning. The children were gathered — not up- 
stairs this time, but every window showed 
a crowd of happy faces, and they waved 
good-by to the trustee who was no longer 
u new,” but a very dear old friend. 

It had been Christmas indeed in the or- 
phanage, truly Christmas. In the fun of 
sharing with others, the boys and girls 
had all been brought together into a big 
happy family, and the orphanage had be- 
come a real home. 





































































































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